


the house where we grew up

by hansoom



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 00:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13492617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hansoom/pseuds/hansoom
Summary: Seulgi looks straight ahead at Seungwan, the curve of her jaw and the line of her neck, the gentleness of her hands a phantom memory.





	the house where we grew up

Seulgi books a flight to Toronto, scheduled for next year in the spring. It's seven months away, still, but she'd passed by a travel agency on her way back from dance class and there was a brochure flattened neatly against the window. She could hardly resist.

"I've been doing really well in my English class recently." Her phone is sandwiched between her ear and shoulder, iron whirring in her right hand.

Seungwan's voice is low across the line, a little hard to hear against the wind outside. Seulgi presses her ear harder against her the receiver. She should remember to buy those noise-cancelling earbuds soon. "Really?" She laughs, and her voice is delighted, even if a little disbelieving. "And why is that?"

After all these years, Seulgi feels silly for the warmth that rushes into her cheeks at the thought of answering truthfully. The ends of her fingers, unwittingly, tremble. She has to put the iron down.

Still, she manages to get it out, a small sound that emerges despite her tongue tied clumsily in her mouth: you.

You.

-

Before, Seulgi had lived for a while in Japan. There was the luxury of anonymity there, the lack of inquiry into her life. She took hikes on Wednesdays and learned to cook on Thursdays. On Fridays, in the morning, she would paint. Her art professor in Kyushu University loved her portraits of a girl: sitting by the fireplace, running through a field, reading on a couch.

Before that, Taiwan; before that, Rome. Before Seungwan, before, before, before, and again.

Before all of that, between all of that, her heart in Seoul.

-

They first meet at a clothes store in Kyoto. Seungwan is seeking shelter from the storm that's broken out outside, and Seulgi is buying a dress for a dinner party she must attend later.

Seulgi can hear her awkward Japanese, the intonations jumbled up and swallowed in little gulps of air. Her fingers ache to reach out, but they spend their time looking at different things. Her head whirs with the possibilities. Seulgi fiddles with the latch on one of the bags, and stops when the assistant comes closer.

She's here for a dress. Right. A dress.

"Oh," Seungwan breathes, too loud that it echoes off the walls of the small shop, when Seulgi emerges from the changing room clad in a yellow dress. Seungwan has been thumbing at the dresses on the rack for a while, her purse sandwiched neatly between her long fingers, but with this exclamation she knocks two dresses off the rack and they fall to the floor noisily.

Then she turns her flushed face away bashfully, quickly, and kneels down immediately to retrieve the clothes, never mind the dirt on her knees or the assistant rushing over assuring her that it's fine.

And Seulgi watches it: the uptick of the corner of Seungwan's mouth, the wisps of hair falling across her face, the brightness of her sorry eyes, the way she keeps glancing at Seulgi.

It comes all at once: the rush of blood to her head and the thought that oh, oh -

-

"What's the hardest part?"

Seungwan never seems to be able to have a peaceful stretch of sleep. Seulgi spends all her time awake, blinking away at the ceiling just in case she wakes up. When Seungwan stirs they talk for a bit, usually Seungwan murmuring questions into Seulgi's shoulder, her fingers dancing around a spot on Seulgi's waist. It's hard to concentrate.

"Of what?"

"I mean - is it the languages? Because I know you're bad at that. Or... like, when you had to learn how to use a computer or something. Or is it the whole secret identity thing. I mean, I learned today in class that it's difficult to fabricate -"

Seulgi could hold her forever. She could listen forever. It doesn't matter, really. She has all the time in the world.

"The second hardest part was sending my parents off," Seulgi says, quietly, and Seungwan stops talking. Instead, she shifts forward, closer, presses her lips to Seulgi's forehead, then her cheek, then her eyelids, Seungwan's fingers running carefully down her jaw, brushing lightly against the skin of her neck. "But I could look after them," Seulgi gasps, involuntarily, when Seungwan drops lower. Her heart still beats like a runaway train. "And - I - still see them sometimes, but it's - not good to - b-because - I'm n-not - "

And suddenly Seungwan is gone. Seulgi lets out a silly whine and Seungwan laughs, pulling herself back to eye level with the older girl.

"Should I - stop?" Seungwan's eyes are concerned, her thumb skimming lightly across Seulgi's cheek.

Her other hand is placed carefully on Seulgi's fist, and Seulgi looks down to find that she's gathered up the fabric without knowing it, tugging it out from where it was tucked under the mattress.

"No, I just -"

Seungwan's staring at her intently, as if the world has stopped and Seulgi's the only one moving, as if it hasn't always been the other way around.

"The hardest part is waiting for you."

Seulgi carries a picture of Seungwan in her pocket - one they took in Kyoto. It was when she'd caught Seungwan laughing unawares, standing on the top of a hill and buffeted lightly by the breeze.

The smile Seungwan gives her now is different. It's always different, and Seungwan says I'm sorry, I'm sorry, and closes the distance between them again and Seulgi falls and falls and falls.

-

They first meet at a small pub in Rome. Seulgi's accidentally tripped over her own bag and swept an entire table of beer onto the floor.

"Hey," Seungwan says, before Seulgi can offer to pay. "I'm so sorry, that was my bag," she says, palming Seulgi's elbow as she helps her up. Seulgi blinks in confusion.

"I'll pay for the damage," Seungwan fishes out a wad of cash from her pocket, and the owner softens immediately, waving his hand at the two of them, much to the chagrin of one of the men with beer all over his lap. "So sorry about that," she says again, hoisting the bag onto her shoulder and steering Seulgi out of the pub into the blistering cold.

"What-"

"You're Korean too, right?" Seungwan cuts in, and Seulgi blinks at her.

"Yes," she says, recklessly, because here her name is Jean and she was born to French and Japanese parents, but Seungwan is holding her wrist lightly and her eyes are so bright.

"I-" Seungwan starts, and stops. "Forgive me for butting in like that, gosh, I just - I'm sure you have the money too, or maybe we didn't even need to pay any money -" She sweeps her coat behind her hips, looking for her wallet, and Seulgi can't help but let out a small laugh. "I just -" she says, and her smile is exasperated, and kind, and -

"I just came here to study, and it's - been difficult."

She hasn't heard anyone speak Korean to her in years.

"No, it's fine" Seulgi says, then. "It's fine. Thank you."

Wendy's hands, when they find hers, are warm.

-

"What do you do? When I'm gone?"

Seungwan blushes then, stuttering. "I meant, I'm sure you lead a fulfilling life, it's just-"

"I live with a empty space in my chest until you find me," Seulgi says, simply. There's no need to lie about it. It's all that Seulgi can be sure of. Still, Seungwan's face falls.

She slides the back of her hand across her cheek, lifting her chin up from where it was wedged against the pillow.

"Why don't you find someone else?"

Seungwan has only known Seulgi for a year. Seulgi has known her -

"I can't," Seulgi tells her. She doesn't know what else to say. Seungwan's gaze is searching, unhappy.

"Have you tried?"

"Yes," Seulgi lies.

Seungwan stares at her. A beat, two. Seulgi has never known how to lie to her.

"No," she corrects, voice low and angry, and leaves the couch.

-

When Seulgi sees her in Taipei, her heart stops altogether. She's buying fruits from the fruit seller and fumbling with her change, the heavy bag of groceries weighing down her wrist, but she looks the same. Her hair is the colour of burgundy now, but she has the same smile and the same laugh and the same -

"Oh," Seungwan shouts, when she rams straight into Seulgi. "I'm so sorry, I never -"

"It's okay," Seulgi says, bending down to pick up the oranges that have spilled onto the pavement. "Just make it up to me with dinner."

Seungwan looks up, startled. "Sorry?"

"I'm kidding," Seulgi says, quickly, afraid that Seungwan won't stay this time.

Seungwan's gaze flutters down to her shoes. Her fingers tighten around the handles of her plastic bag. Her lips are a dark red, almost violent under the moonlight.

"I would love to," Seungwan says, and Seulgi's loses feeling in her fingers.

-

Seungwan is always angry, at first. After the disbelief and the curiosity comes the urge to leave, as if it'd fix the cycle Seulgi is in.

She'd walked out for four months one time, changed her number and left her classes early. There's a world of hurt that Seulgi stewed in at first, and then she got drunk and did the stupidest thing: sent a message that flashed on the face of Taipei 101.

Seulgi had the money, of course, accumulated over years and years, but the sheer embarrassment of it washed over her in waves and waves when she woke up to the news.

Whatever embarrassment she felt was promptly forgotten when Seungwan came back in tears, tackling Seulgi onto the couch and hiccuping through her crying.

"I told you to find someone else," Seungwan said, wrapping her arms around Seulgi's waist. "Why can't you do that?"

Seulgi swallowed a dry parcel of air, and rocked Seungwan closer. The answer was simple.

"Could you?"

-

Seulgi flies to Toronto on a Thursday. There's a thunderstorm on the horizon, according to her weather app. The flight attendant leans closer when she tries to speak English, and Seulgi has to repeat herself three times to be understood.

This happens again with the customs officer, and the man selling train tickets to the city center, and then Seungwan is standing there behind the barricades and Seulgi can feel her knees threaten to give out.

The other girl is looking in another direction when Seulgi comes up behind her, presses a hand to her shoulder, and Seungwan lets out the loudest yelp Seulgi has ever heard her make.

"Hello to you too," Seungwan says, laughing, and Seulgi has the fight the urge to draw closer.

She carries the luggage bag while trailing behind Seungwan, sits with her hand over Seungwan's in the backseat of their cab. Seungwan twines their fingers together and breathes slow, looking out the window.

-

"And then what?"

"What?"

"When does this end? What if I don't come back?"

Seulgi feels Seungwan's eyelashes brush against her cheek, fluttering with anxiety.

"I'll live," Seulgi lies.

-

The storm has hit by the time they arrive at Seungwan's house, a small property tucked away in an enclave. Seulgi has soaked through the carpet in the five minutes she's been in the house, and Mr and Mrs Son are running up and down with a change of clothes.

After the introductions, Seungwan excuses them politely up to her room, and Seulgi places herself carefully on a square of the bed, legs dangling off the side of it. She never wants to go too fast.

"What do you think?" Seungwan asks.

Seungwan has the brightest eyes. She always does. Her eyes which are sweeping across the ceiling of glow-in-the-dark paint, the picture of a night sky.

Seulgi looks straight ahead at Seungwan, the curve of her jaw and the line of her neck, the gentleness of her hands a phantom memory.

"It feels like home," Seulgi says, and Seungwan's gaze only grows warmer.

Above them, a blanket of constant, unchanging stars.


End file.
